Thoughts on Murder
by TheStrangeBelief
Summary: Rabastan Lestrange fears he's going mad...


A/N: Rabastan Lestrange's thoughts on murder, somewhat strange...but the first draft of this-that was even weirder. (Sorry, Amanda, for going mad in Science and then scribbling down all the crap for this.) Read and Review, please? Thanks. I'm sorry, I don't know what a jaw dislocating sounds like-I've always guessed it to be a soft pop, but if you know what it sounds like, I'm sorry if I get it wrong.

The first nightmare started the night they came home after they killed the McKinnons—mummy, daddy, Marlene, and little David.

He had felt no remorse, watching Geraldine McKinnon screaming and screaming and screaming, _until her jaw dislocated with a soft, wet pop,_ as her daughter lay on the grass, crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut, lifeless eyes silently accusing.

No, that wasn't quite right. Rabastan had felt the slightest spark of pity, as he'd turned his wand on Marlene—sweet-faced, kind Marlene, with a smile ready for everyone, Marlene who had lent him a quill when he had forgotten his in Charms—but he smothered it, as he reminded himself that she and her family were blood traitors—_if only they'd chosen the right side. _Nevertheless, he chose to end her life with a quick _'Avada Kedavra'_, _instead of drawing it out like Bella and Rod, _because he felt sorry for what could have been.

They'd cleaned up after themselves, mopping away the blood on the porcelain dishes and the ornate chandelier,_ crimson on bone and crystal, he had thought, _before casting a quick 'Morsmorde!', and Apparating away into the moonless night.

Just in case, they burned their cloaks and threw them into the Thames,_ which looked like a thin ribbon made of star-studded shadows. _Then they headed over to a local pub, where Bellatrix flirted up a storm, _men drifting to her like bees to sickly sweet honey, _while Rodolphus nursed his beer, occasionally throwing a cutting remark in the way of his fiancée and her many admirers, and Rabastan charmed the girls with a sly smile, and a wink that didn't suggest anything, _no, not until you started thinking about it. _

Most of the girls had drifted off, before offering a flirtatious comment, but one brown-haired girl, with large hazel eyes, _just like Marlene's, he noted absentmindedly, _had stuck around, telling him, in an innuendo-laden voice, _that a breath of fresh air would be so_ very_ nice, don't you think? _

She'd pulled him outside, _her hands coiled in brown curls, _and pushed them back against the wall, mouths smashing together, and tongues fighting for dominance. _Hungry, rough, and angry—_he consumed her mouth, hands slipping underneath her shirt to feel soft flesh. The nameless girl had tasted bittersweet, _like alcohol and candy apples. _

The muddled kiss against the wall had led to a quick fuck near the bushes, which was where an irritated Bellatrix, towing a wasted Rodolphus behind her, found Rabastan, buttoning up his pants, and straightening the collar of his shirt.

"Oh, Merlin," she'd muttered, "Rod's out like a light, come on, let's go." They'd Apparated back to Rod and Bella's flat in London, which they were sharing until they got married, where Bella had unceremoniously dumped her fiancé onto the couch, gone to the bathroom to clean herself up, and wave Rabastan in the vague direction of the spare bedroom.

He'd stripped down to his boxers, and collapsed on the bed, too tired to bother taking a proper shower.

_Pale, white arms, bent at odd angles, dangled from distorted dolls, with broken butterfly faces. He didn't notice, at first, but when he advanced toward them cautiously, he'd noticed the smaller doll had hazel eyes the exact shade of Marlene's, and her curly auburn hair, and and—_oh God,_ he realized, with dawning horror, _she's come back for me—the murdered _do _haunt their murderers! _Run, little boy, run—his heart thumped in his chest , skyrocketing up to his throat, so quick he couldn't breath—as he flew across his nightmare. They stared at him, eyes accusing, and maggoty, clawed hands grasping in the air for him—_so they could drag him down with them—_no! No no no oh my god NO!_

Rabastan woke up, the cold sweat of nightmares trickling down his back, and grey eyes wide. _Oh Merlin, _he thought. _It was not real. It was just his head, screwing around again._

His breathe coming in gasps, he looked around anyway, _just to be sure._

He slipped out of bed, wincing as the cold hit his sweat-covered skin, and pulled on a black shirt, and a pair of pants lying around on the floor. _He had to get out—his dreams wouldn't go away, and maybe the city will help._

Rabastan meandered down the sidewalk, the wind slapping his face and making the shirt fly up. It doesn't help—he feels like he sees her _everywhere_—her eyes_, god, the exact shade,_ in the girl on the billboard of the building, her curly cap of hair on the woman walking past him, and her blue sweater on the airbrushed movie poster. _Is this how murderers feel like—because I am one now—always haunted by memories of their victims? Never completely free? _

Yes, he was scared of ghosts—ironic, no? He was a coward, too, not as brave as Rod and Bella, who to him, are unflinching pillars of strength, _afraid of nothing and above everything._ As he passed the fancy department stores, it started to really sink in. _He's killed someone. A living, breathing girl who'd talked to him before. Someone who'd smiled at him before. _This was different. _This was not like the quick assassination of a nameless traitor—this was a girl he'd known, and talked to, even. _

_He's killed someone. _

At the thought, his heart jumped a beat in his ribcage. _Murderer_, it seemed to beat out, in a steady pace. Somehow, Rabastan didn't really like the title. _Mur-der-er. M-U-R-D-E-R-E-R. _He was a murderer. _A killer. _He's snuffed out a human life, with just seven syllables and the flick of a magic-imbued strip of wood. He felt the strange urge to look into the mirror, and see if he's any different, with the taking of a human life.

So he shuffled over to a shop door, with a reflective glass, and took a look. Same old Rabastan Lestrange—with the same old solemn-looking grey eyes, _such a serious-looking little boy, my Rabastan, _same old angry red scar running down the left side of his face, same old aristocratic nose, and pale skinny face. He didn't look any different, but there was something that felt different, almost tangible.

_What were you looking for, the word 'KILLER' in big block letters on your forehead? _He scoffed at himself mentally, and rubbed his eyes.

Rabastan turned around in the direction he came from, and started walking back to the flat. He thought he saw Marlene again, and he feared he was going mad.

_Mad. Maybe he wasn't so bad—maybe maybe maybe._

==FIN==


End file.
